


Sweater Weather

by KomaedaClear



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Komaeda crying, Lots of tears, Takes place in sort of canon, probably really sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 09:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2020071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KomaedaClear/pseuds/KomaedaClear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Komaeda is crying over Hinata and tears are shed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweater Weather

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of my first fanfictions and at the time these sad ones were all I seemed to write. Be warned that I actually cried writing this.

Rain tapped on the cloudy glass of the window in a disorganized opera. This let in only a dark, gray light which barely showed clumped shadows at the end of the room. Looking onto the foggy window from the back wall, you would see a large, white bed to the left with a blank blanket wrinkled from the man sitting there. To the right was a neatly polished bookshelf with boring literature covering its dank space.

The man sitting atop the blank bed had a green sweater lightly draped on his forearms, leaving the hood to rest atop the bed, exposing the back of his white shirt. On the front of his shirt was an odd red symbol which had no meaning to the world. On his lower body he had nothing but plaid boxers which were dark in shadow. For his head he had messy shoulder-length hair, which was softer than a kitten’s belly and fluffier than a bright cloud, and it was white as such. His face had an expression of a neutral sadness, his gray eyes dark, catching no light of the room. Gaze settled on his restless, wringing hands, and a slight line of his mouth twitching uncomfortably.

A thought drifted across his mind of a friend his age, with brown hair and a slight smile. White dress shirt and green tie, toned skin and a friendly look in his eyes. The white-haired sadness longed for that friendly look to be directed at him. He longed for his friend to knock on his door and ask to come in. The longing made his restless hands wring themselves tighter together. A low, barely audible sigh escaped the thin line on his face, and his bare arms registered the cold chill in the air. He slowly brought up the shoulders of the jacket around his own and hugged himself tighter. How he longed for his friend to speak with him in a normal way that only he could. Eyes were closed as the line of his mouth quivered and his body shook.

Shaky breaths were taken through a barely open mouth, and eyes were clenched shut by an overwhelming knot in his stomach. His arms were crossed, gripping his jacket tightly. The rain continued to drum against the glass, this time harder than before. A drip of water slid down his face. No hand bothered to wipe it up. The cold, frail body leaned forward a tinge, and another tear fell, this time to drop onto one of his knees. His mind could not register where on his knee it fell, as he focused on stopping his quivering breaths. Alas, he would not stop. His barely open mouth let out a whimper. Soon enough, the whimper became a ragged breath, which choked at his neck.

Coughing fit had overcome him, as though reaching itself down his throat and gripping at the sides. The tears were like the rain outside, coming down in a drain of heated despair. It had felt as though someone was choking him, taking all moisture from his throat and moving it down his face in a waterfall, leaving him gasping for air. His thoughts were clouded by the image of his friend, this time staring at him as though he was a stranger.

A whisper sounded throughout the room, silencing the gasping fit he was having. It came out again. A name. His friend’s name left his lips a third time, still a whisper. It felt good to say it, and his eyes opened barely. The name was whispered again, a little higher this time. A fifth time, broken by another gasp for air. He fell to his left in slow motion, and he brought his knees up to his chest as he grabbed the pillow above his head. His hands clenched onto the soft fabric and brought it to his face, smothering the empty noise at the back of his throat. The name was called out again, no longer a whisper, and it was repeated until he could not hear it again. The silent sound of his voice through the pillow blocked out the sound of the rain, and a fist clenched his heart and squeezed, bringing up more painful water spilling out of his swollen eyes into the pillow, soaking the soft fabric in a lifetime of despair.

The cold no longer bothered him as the jacket became a hot tomb, seeping into his very soul and shaking up his entire insides. The pillow itself shook, as though it was in pain itself. Grip on the back of the pillow tightened and was pushed further into his face, soaking up all of the pain and longing he was feeling.

The shaking slowed down as his mind began to drift away. The grip on the pillow slackened, and his body began to relax. Tears seemed to become a simple stream instead of a waterfall, and his body relaxed, his breath slowly becoming normal again; though it was shaky. He let out a whisper of his friend’s name once more before letting himself drift into a dreamless state, where he was not asleep, but not awake. The tomb that was his room seemed to lighten a bit as the rain, too, only seemed to drizzle, and the boy was left sleeping away as the sun slowly rose above his window in a red haze, the clouds beginning to clear away.


End file.
